We'll Always Have Paris… and Venice, and Moscow, and Amsterdam
by lovesbitca8
Summary: Witch Weekly's "129 Ways to Woo Your Wizard" has some pretty outlandish suggestions. But Hermione is determined to woo her recently divorced co-worker. Even if she has to drag him to a different continent.


**A/N: Part of the Strictly Dramione Facebook group's Valentine's Day Smut Fest!**

**Full title: **

We'll Always Have Paris… and Venice, and Moscow, and Amsterdam, and Perth, and Hong Kong, and New York, and Madrid

**Theme of the fest: Hermione sets out to woo Draco, deciding to use some of the 129 tips on how to find a husband as printed in an old edition of Witch Weekly from 1958. Needless to say, the suggestions are sexist, archaic, and downright hilarious.**

**Each author received one of the 129 tips as their prompt. Mine is: #8 - Take several short vacations at different places rather than one long one at one place.**

**Thank you to LadyKenz347 for the beautiful aesthetic board she made for this fic with only a small description.**

**Also, you'll notice there is a distinct lack of detail for whatever it is Draco and Hermione do, or who they work for, or what these meetings are. I don't care, and really... neither do you.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"So, the Portkeys are all set up. We'll be able to accomplish so much more like this, don't you think?"

Draco stared at her as she paced, touching items on his desk, picking up a quill and running the feather through her fingers.

"I've always wanted to see Florence. And Bolivia. And Madrid. So… this is a great idea, isn't it?"

She didn't look to him for confirmation, just kept fingering the feather. He lifted a brow at her.

"If we lock down twelve of the fifteen clients, I'd say it's a success." She turned abruptly, looking out his office window. "_And_ if we meet our quarterly goal by midnight on the thirteenth, we will have officially accomplished it in _half_ the time. Which is brilliant."

She plopped into the chair in front of his desk, dragging the feather through her fingers so roughly that Draco wondered if only the spine would be left.

"You haven't said anything," she stated. Finally looking up at him.

"You… haven't let me."

"Sorry, yes. Go ahead."

"You want to go on a trip… on February 13th?"

"A _business_ trip," she corrected. Standing again and tapping the quill against her palm like a ruler. "For… business purposes. Of course."

"Don't you have plans that weekend?" He shuffled the papers on his desk. "Why isn't Krum taking you on a trip to Florence and Bolivia and Madrid."

She laughed, a strangled sound. "There – ha! – There is no reason he would take me on a _business _trip to conduct _business_ with my potential _business_ clients." She chuckled a forced staccato. "This is a _business trip_, Malfoy."

"Yes, so I'm gathering." He flipped his desk calendar to the following week, praying that plans had magically appeared on the calendar. You know, with magic.

"Besides, Viktor wouldn't take me to any of those places. It's far too romantic."

He looked up at her, fingers freezing over the fourteenth. She had her brows furrowed and her eyes trained out the window.

"Too romantic?" Draco teased. "For Valentine's Day?"

"Exactly," she hummed. "Would probably send the wrong message." She looked down at the quill and began tearing the soft down from the bottom.

He frowned at her, calculating. She'd been acting strange for a few months. She'd started _baking_, or as he called it, poisoning. She'd begun to wear taller shoes which meant she'd begun to fall more often. She'd started dropping into his office unannounced with an anecdote from her week that had her chuckling and Draco squinting, and then asked him for advice on dealing with her clients when they both knew she was the "approachable" one.

And strangest of all, she'd started carrying a handkerchief. And it would fall out of her pocket whenever he was in the vicinity.

She paced to his window in her wobbly high heels, and said, "So, what do you think? Is it a good idea?"

She turned her face to him, open and waiting, like his decision was the only one that mattered.

No, it was a terrible idea. It was unnecessary and exhausting.

"Er… sure, Granger. I don't have anything I can't reschedule on the 13th."

She beamed at him, and he watched the way it brightened her eyes, transforming her cheeks.

"Wonderful! I'll send you the itinerary."

* * *

She had them meeting at the office at six in the morning on Friday February 13th. They were going to Hong Kong first, and making their way backwards across the time zones. He glanced at the itinerary for the first time at 6:01AM.

"Granger… am I reading this right? We're getting back at 11PM local time? That's a seventeen-hour day."

"Yes! Think of all we'll accomplish!"

He glared at her. She produced the first Portkey, grabbed his elbow and spun them away before he could argue her logic.

The arrived at a location with a gorgeous view of Victoria Harbor, and he blinked against the bright 2PM sun. She gasped, sliding her sunglasses on swiftly, and stood there a moment looking out over the water. He turned to a vendor and bought a pair of glasses himself, coming back to her side, watching her lean against a rail.

The problem with her starting to wear heels and dresses now was that Draco had started to _notice_ her heels and dresses now. She had _legs_ now. (She didn't have legs before, he was positive.) Today she wore a light blue dress that pulled tight across her stomach and chest, but swayed around her hips and thighs.

She turned her head to look down the harbor.

Oh, yes, and she had _lips_ now. (He was fairly certain she didn't have those before either.)

"You should come back for the Symphony of Lights," he said. She turned to him, eyes hidden behind her wide lenses. "It's at night."

"You've been to Hong Kong?"

He nodded. She took one more look at the harbor before mumbling a navigational spell to get them to their meeting by 2:15PM.

* * *

When they landed their first client in Hong Kong, she celebrated by buying him breakfast in Perth. It was actually afternoon in Australia, but barely waking time back home.

She gave them precisely fifteen minutes to swallow breakfast before they had to jog to their meeting. She would yell back, "Oh, it's beautiful here!" every so often, and he would watch the way her skirt would bounce around her knees.

By the time they landed in Moscow, their sixth city, with only fifteen minutes to spare before their meeting, Draco had noticed a pattern.

"You didn't want to spread any of these trips out?" he asked as she took in the Kremlin.

"No, we don't have time. There's too many meetings—"

"Yes, but we're not arriving in the client's office when we Portkey," he pointed out. "We're doing… almost a fifteen-minute vacation."

She blushed and led them toward the next office. He followed behind her. "I suppose you're right," she said. "I just… thought it was a good opportunity…" She turned to him. "Are you having a pleasant day?"

What a strange question. "Er, no, not really." He laughed. "It's a bit overwhelming."

She frowned. "Oh."

"But you are correct," he conceded. "We have landed six out of six meetings. Though ambitious, your plan was very strategic." She grinned at the ground, and he said, "You should have Krum take you back here. There's a lot to do in Moscow when you have more than fifteen minutes."

"Hm." She turned back to the view. "Did you... Did you ever take Tracey to Moscow?"

His hand twitched. He and Tracey Davis had announced their divorce three months ago. No one talked about it. He made sure of that.

He was tempted to tell her to fuck off. Tell her to mind her own business.

"No," he said, looking down at the street. "She only wanted to go to Paris. Wanted to be photographed in front of the Eiffel Tower."

"You don't like Paris?" she asked softly, slowing and turning to him.

"There's just… so many more interesting places in the world."

Granger nodded, looking up at the structure in front of them. He watched her eyes take in the towers, wondering if Krum didn't like to travel. If that was why she was doing this.

He couldn't imagine not wanting to take her on a vacation. Paying for a hotel suite, waking up to her naked body next to his, convincing her to stay in bed instead of tackling the day.

A harsh wind twisted around them, and several sections of hair blew out from the style she wore to work every day. He reached up, just about to push her hair back, when she jumped, reaching for her wand, and he pulled his hand away.

Her wand was buzzing in her hand. An alarm.

"We have to go," she said, spinning on her heel and wandering down the street toward their meeting.

* * *

The meeting in Moscow went horribly. It was the first deal they lost. It soured her mood for the next two meetings, which they also lost.

"Absolutely ridiculous," she hissed while jingling her bag of Portkeys. "I mean, who in their right mind—"

She grabbed his arm and wrapped her fingers around an orange stone.

They whipped away, and Draco righted himself on a dock. She spun, looking over the waters with a hand shielding her eyes.

"Where are we now?" Draco asked.

"It's… it's supposed to be Florence, but…" She looked down at her itinerary. "Oh, no! Oh, how bloody stupid!" She stomped her foot.

"You grabbed the wrong Portkey?" he ventured.

"Oh, _god_," she huffed. We're in New York an hour early. We need… We should go back."

She reached into her bag, and he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "Wait. Will we be able to get back to New York once we rightfully get to Florence?"

Her eyes calculated, staring out over the waters to New Jersey. "No. Oh, god."

"We need the Wesley account in New York more than we need the Italians."

She nodded, biting her lip, looking like she might cry.

Which would be just awful. For him.

"Granger, relax. We have 6 of the 17 accounts you set out for. It's"—he looked at his watch—"3PM back home. Why don't we stop for lunch, seeing as you haven't let us."

She pouted all the way to the pizza place. "We should be having pizza in Florence."

He waved her off. "Melted cheese on bread. It's all the same, Granger."

* * *

They stood in line at the only pizza place they could find open at 10AM local time.

"See?" Draco said as the server slid a slice larger than his head onto a paper plate. "All pizza is the same. Chef Sbarro will take care of us." He turned to the man behind the counter and said, "Grazie, signore."

He replied in Spanish.

Granger stared down at her itinerary as he ate. She picked at her toppings.

"What should we do for the next hour, Granger?" he asked.

She blinked up at him with bright eyes and said, "Maybe if we head down to MACUSA, we can secure a Portkey back to New York. We have ten minutes until the meeting in Florence starts."

She stood, leaving her uneaten pizza, and started to rush out the door. He grabbed her slice and followed.

"Hey!" He grabbed her arm and said, "You're the one who wanted a mini-vacation. Now we finally have more than fifteen minutes and you want to waste it with work?" He clucked his tongue at her, and walked the opposite direction.

"Draco!" She hurried after him, and took her pizza slice back before he could start eating it. When she bit into her slice and licked her lips clean of the grease, he slammed into a tourist.

* * *

He took them over to the Empire State Building, and after learning that the line to get to the top would take forty-five minutes, he rolled his eyes and Apparated them both.

"Draco, you really can't just… do that…" But she trailed off, looking out over the Manhattan skyline.

He walked the perimeter of the roof until he caught sight of the Chrysler building. They wandered in circles around each other for a few minutes, but Draco couldn't help but notice that today was the Friday before Valentine's Day. And they were on top of the Empire State Building.

A couple about his age had their arms wrapped around each other, keeping warm at a Viewfinder. Two middle-aged men held hands and strolled the roof. A mother and father watched their two girls skip through the crowd, and stole kisses from each other.

Granger appeared next to him, pointing something out to him.

He interrupted, "Why won't Viktor take you to Moscow? Or Florence, or Bolivia?"

She blinked up at him. "I… I don't know. I guess I could always ask him if he felt like going."

"But if it's something you want – if you want to travel more – then he must know that. _He_ should plan the trip. You shouldn't have to ask."

Her brows pulled together and she turned to look out over the skyline. "I suppose. Ginny has expressed an interest as well. She might want to take a vacation."

He watched her hair whip with the wind, and frowned. Why would she invite the Weasley girl to join her boyfriend and her on vacation?

"You mean with Potter? The two of them with you?"

"Oh," she said. "Maybe. I'd probably feel like a bit of a third wheel though."

Her wand buzzed before he could process that. It was time for their New York meeting.

* * *

Their losing streak was over. They landed the New York account. The meetings in Puerto Rico, Chile, and Mexico went over well too. They were quite confident walking into Quebec and San Diego, and ended up with good news there.

Of course, by the time Granger finally made it to Bolivia, her eyes were closing. They lost Bolivia when she fell into a fit of giggles in her armchair. Draco just shook his head and apologized while the senior accountant stared at her.

She stood on the steps of the Basilica of San Francisco and shook her bag of Portkeys. They were done. Just to head back to England now.

He'd had a fine day after all. He'd wandered the Armoury at the Royal Palace of Madrid, ran down the Breakneck Steps in Quebec City, and even had authentic Italian pizza in New York.

And the whole time it felt like he had her for fifteen minutes. A quarter of an hour in each city before running to their meetings, and there was no Krum, no Tracey. They were just tourists, enjoying the city.

Just before she reached into her bag for their Portkey home, he said, "Would you care for an espresso, Granger?"

She stared up at him eyes half closed, and said, "Do you know a place?"

He reached into the bag, took her arm, and picked the Florence Portkey.

They moseyed through a few cobblestone streets, finding a few cafés open. They stopped in one, asking for four espressos (and what'll you have, Granger?) and a dinner menu. It was almost 11PM.

Once Draco's leg was bouncing he ordered them a bottle of wine and a pizza.

"So, what big Valentine's Day plans do you have for tomorrow, Granger?"

"Hm. I'll probably stay in bed all day."

Wow. Alright. Apparently, Krum was a bit of a caveman.

"And you?" she asked. Do you have a Valentine's date?"

"Er, no." He sipped at his wine and watched as her eyes followed his Adam's apple. "I'll probably catch up on some reading…"

Why did he sound so poncy?

The pizza arrived at the table, and he tried to ask the waiter if he knew the chef in New York, Sbarro. The waiter rolled his eyes.

"Um..." Granger started. "If you're not doing anything in the evening… there's a few places in London… tourist traps, really. But I've never seen them. We could… We could have a mini-vacation at home."

She guzzled down the rest of her wine.

Draco stared at her. "Tomorrow?" He lifted a brow.

She smacked her lips. "Er, yes. If you're free. I mean, you _said_ you were free, but if you're… interested."

"I'm not sure Krum would like that." He narrowed his eyes at her.

She blinked at him. "Why would… What…" she sputtered.

He tilted his head, trying to hear the words she wasn't saying. Was she inviting him into a ménage à trois with them? He looked over her blushing face, her full lips trying to articulate, her long neck.

And then the image of Victor Krum with the two of them. And he shuddered and his mind came back to present.

"—in Bulgaria right now, so I don't really know how it's relevant—"

And several things became clear suddenly.

"I'm sorry, wait." He held up his hand, pausing her. "Are you telling me you are not dating Viktor Krum?"

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

"He took you to the museum opening in Bulgaria—"

"I love museums!"

"And the Durmstrang ten-year reunion—"

"He—he asked me, and I went!"

"And you brought him as your date to the Christmas party last year—"

"My date? No!"

"And you're always _talking_ about him, Granger! Even today, you couldn't… shut up about him." He pouted into his wine glass.

"That was _you!_ You were the one always bringing him up!"

"Because he's your boyfriend—"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend—"

"Yes, I know that _now!_"

They both crossed their arms and frowned down at their uneaten pizza. An older Italian couple a few tables down smiled and whispered about young love.

He looked up at her. She was biting her lip again, staring down at her wine glass. She released her bottom lip and Draco watched her mouth as she stared out the window.

He picked up his pizza slice, bit into it and moaned.

"Oh, Merlin. Mr. Sbarro should be ashamed of himself."

* * *

Draco paid the bill even while Granger protested that they should split it. They walked back out into cobblestone streets, filled with young people enjoying Valentine's vacations. He checked his watch. Past midnight. Already February 14th.

And suddenly he remembered what she had been saying before they'd cleared up the Krum situation.

She asked him to dinner tomorrow night. Tonight. On Valentine's Day.

He looked over at her, arms wrapped around her middle, staring down at the ground.

They'd been mostly silent as the staff cleared their plates and poured the rest of their wine. And now she looked… sad. Or awkwardly dejected.

"You had a very successful day today, Granger. You landed 12 accounts and you got to see 16 new places in the world. Albeit only for fifteen minutes each."

She smiled slightly. "Yes, it was a good day."

"Did you accomplish everything you wanted? See everything you wanted to see?"

"I suppose so." She stopped, sighed, and pulled the bag with the last Portkey.

"Wait," he said, hand on her elbow. She looked at his hand and then up at him. "You haven't seen the gondolas."

"Aren't they in Venice?"

He smirked and Apparated them both to the canals. She smiled at the waters, watching the gondoliers make extra money off the tourists here on Valentine's Day.

They walked along the canal for a few minutes before he finally asked, "Why did you ask me on this trip?" She twitched. "Gordon is usually your partner."

"I… I thought it would be more fun with you." She looked away quickly. "Gordon isn't very adventurous. He wouldn't have wanted to do 16 meetings in a day."

"And he's not as dashing as me," he teased, but she stiffened, and turned to watch the gondola slide by.

"Did you have a good day?" she asked, voice high. "It was a bit of a strange idea, I know, but they say that taking several short trips is, um… better."

"They who?"

"Er," she stumbled. "I think I read it somewhere. Take several short vacations instead of one long one."

"They probably meant _weekend_ trips, Granger."

"Oh."

She wouldn't face him.

"Yes, I had a wonderful day," he said. He turned her shoulder, forcing her to turn to him. "Despite my companion's completely barmy itinerary."

She smiled softly and looked down. On instinct, his fingers tilted her jaw back up. Her eyes were startled, blinking back and forth between his own.

"What are you doing tomorrow morning, Granger?"

Her mouth opened as she formed silent words. "Er… probably just stay in bed. Like I said."

He smirked at her. "That sounds like a great plan. Let's do that."

Her eyes widened.

* * *

"Hello, yes, hello. I need a room?" He dug in his pockets for the billfold with the Muggle plastic card he rarely used. "One night."

The woman at the hotel's front desk eyed them both. Granger danced next to him, her hand still holding his elbow.

"All our rooms are booked."

He raised a brow at her. "Not _all_ your rooms."

She frowned at him. "The only room we have available is the Penthouse Suite—"

"Brilliant. I'll take it."

Granger gasped and tugged at his arm, and he ignored her.

The woman said, "The cost of the Penthouse Suite—"

He threw his black piece of plastic at her, and said, "I don't care."

* * *

He couldn't figure out how the stupid cards worked to get them into the room, so Granger had to do it for him.

He pushed her up against the wall once inside and kissed her, hot and insistent. She gasped and he couldn't help but taste her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he pressed closer to her. He kissed down her neck, to her shoulder and she started rambling.

"I really don't… don't do this. It wasn't part of the plan, but… who am I to say no, you know?"

"Who are you talking to, Granger," he hummed into her ear.

"Myself, clearly."

He kissed her again and started to peel down the shoulders of her smart little business dress.

He looked down to find a lacy pink and red bra. A Valentine's Day bra.

"Wasn't part of the plan?" he asked, eyeing her breasts pouring out of the lace.

"Oh… I… this old thing?"

He laughed and dragged her into the room.

The… apartment, really.

"Oh, wow," she said as he took in the kitchen and living area. Two wide doors on the right led to a bedroom, and probably another bedroom to the left. She wandered over to the window spanning the length of the suite and almost pressed her nose to the glass, her dress rolled down around her waist and her bra on display.

"Do Muggles have security on their windows? Like a Notice-Me-Not charm?"

"Oh," she jumped, pulling away. "No. It's possible these windows are shaded, but…" She started to move away.

"Stay there," he said, his head filling with dark fantasies.

She turned, blinking at him. "What?"

He sat on the arm of the sofa. "Take off your dress. There by the window."

She stared at him for a moment while his heart beat. Then with eyes on him, she peeled her dress down her hips, slipping down past her thighs to fall to the floor.

Valentine's Day knickers too.

"You're a naughty girl, Granger."

She blushed and looked down. Her arms twisted in front of her stomach, blocking her skin. He stood and crossed to her, her eyes tracking his movements.

He lifted his hand, trailing light fingers along her stomach, up her ribs to graze one breast. She shivered.

"What were you hoping for when you put this on, Granger?"

"I—I… nothing. I wasn't… _hoping,_ per se." She shifted her weight while he still softly held her breast in his palm. "I just… wanted to be prepared if… You should always be prepared for this type of thing, don't you think?"

He brushed his thumb across the peak of her. She pressed her lips together and decidedly stopped talking.

"And what were you _prepared_ for, then?" he asked. His other hand landed on her hip.

"Um… just if… anything was going to happen."

Slipping his hand down to her other hip, he twisted the lace at her hips and said, "Where might something have happened? In front of El Zócalo? Behind the tourist booth at Van Gogh Museum? Or just in the middle of a meeting while a stodgy old man asked for our prices?"

She huffed and looked away. "Fine. Whatever, Malfoy. I had no plan. But I wanted to wear something nice in case something like this happened."

He smiled, and pressed a kiss to her jaw. "Turn around, Granger."

She blinked at him as his hands on her hips steered her to face the window. He leaned over her shoulder, looking down at the lights of Venice and let his hands slide across her belly.

He watched her reflection in the glass, eyes taking in the whole city, as his hands danced over her skin, slipping up to her breasts again. She gasped.

"How do you like Venice so far?" he asked.

"I—I think it's my favorite," she chuckled. "Do you like it?"

That tone was back in her voice. The tone that spoke of uncertainty and nerves. Like she was desperate to find something he liked.

"I love it."

She smiled at the city.

He kissed her neck, and one hand squeezed her lace-covered breast while the other slipped down, down, twisting under her knickers. She squeaked and pressed her eyes shut. He rolled her nipple as his other fingers parted her, sliding through her. He pressed light strokes against her core, avoiding her clit, hardening at the feeling of heat around his hand.

He pushed two fingers inside of her and she grabbed at his wrist, groaning.

"Lean on the window," he whispered.

She hesitated, and then brought her arms up, leaning on her elbows. His thumb rubbed over her clit, and she tilted her head forward, giving in.

He pushed aside the lace of her bra, brushing slow circles on her naked breast, and then moved to her other breast, doing the same. He lifted his lips from her neck and found her reflection in the window. Her breasts free from her bra, his hand between her legs, and her mouth open, eyes closed.

"Look at Venice, Granger." Her eyes drifted open, and he said, "I wonder how many people can see you. If anyone's looking up here wishing they were me."

She gasped, and her legs closed around his hand. "We shouldn't—"

He kissed her neck again, rubbing harder at her clit, then twisting his fingers inside of her.

"I thought you wanted to see the city?" he teased.

She moaned, and he pressed his hips forward into her backside. His hand slid up her neck to her jaw, and he turned her face to kiss him. Her mouth moved lazily against his as her thighs trembled.

"We would have been doing this for months if I'd known you were single," he wheezed against her lips.

She gasped as his tongue pressed into her mouth, and came against his hand, squeezing his fingers inside of her.

He was aching in his trousers, but waited until she caught her breath, brushing his fingers across her chest.

She took a deep shuddering breath, and he moved his hands to his zipper, prying open his trousers and shoving his trunks down. He grabbed the scrap of lace and pulled it to the side, nudged at her entrance. She gasped, and he slid in, grasping her hips.

"Take off your bra. I want Venice to watch your tits bounce."

She obeyed instantly, fingers shaking on the clasp.

He pushed in further, and waited for her hands to return to the window again. Pulling her back to him, he started thrusting, listening to her breath. He grabbed her hair, and arched her back kissing her lips again. She groaned as he fucked her harder while tugging at her.

He pressed her forward so her chest flattened against the cold window. She hissed and turned her face to the side. He pulled her back onto him with every thrust, thinking of what a pretty picture she would be to anyone looking in. Prettier than all the sights of the city combined.

"I wanted this," she hummed. "I wanted this since before your divorce."

He groaned, and his hips jumped.

"I tried to get your attention, but"—he snapped his hips, pushing deep—"Ah! But I was doing stupid things."

"You always had my attention, Granger," he whispered.

She moaned, pushing back on him, and he hammered into her, loving the sound of her ass smacking his hips.

He bit down on her neck so he wouldn't holler, and came, slamming forward into her, rattling the window.

When he was spent, he stayed pressed inside and moved his hand around to her clit. She yelped and shuddered, and then squeezed him, moans fogging up the window.

He carried her over to the bed, rolling her special knickers off, and stripping out of his clothes. She closed her eyes, smiling.

"Witch Weekly was right," she hummed, running her hands across her naked body. He settled onto the bed next to her. "_129 Ways to Woo Your Wizard._"

He frowned at her. "What?"

She grinned. "I've been following advice from Witch Weekly. And here we are." She snuggled into his shoulder, looking very pleased with herself.

"No, you silly bint," he sneered. "You finally told me you were single. _That's_ why we're here."

"Details, details," she whispered against his skin, and dozed.

He shook his head at the ceiling, wondering what they'd do tomorrow.

Maybe Prague.


End file.
